In the Wake of Power
by Ashimodo
Summary: A young Breton woman is swept up into a world of myth and heroes. As she walks beside the young Dovahkiin on his epic journey, she will see the tapestry of history woven before her eyes. Thieves and assassins, wizards and warriors, generals and kings; all will be left in the wake as a simple boy rises to become a legend: Junsedov, King of Dragons - and perhaps more...
1. Chapter 1: Dungeons and Dragonborn

**Chapter 1: Dungeons and Dragonborn**

Disclaimer: My characters are mine. The setting belongs to the creators of the Elder Scrolls franchise.

* * *

Liselle was a mousy-haired young Breton woman with a small frame and a short temper. Dark eyes peered from a round, pale face, shaded by a brow that seemed naturally inclined towards the slight furrow of someone who is always concentrating on something. Like most Bretons, she had an almost instinctive compulsion towards magic and, as a natural extension, academics in general. Lost spells and forgotten artifacts were like gold and jewels to her, and like any adventurer seeking her fortune, ancient tombs and burial crypts called to her like a Siren song. Of course ancient magic wasn't the only thing she was after; she was a scholar, after all, and a scholar is curious about everything. She had set to work sketching and noting in her little brown journal the moment she was in sight of the crumbling Nord ruin: architecture, engineering, and artwork were all carefully considered; scraps of writing were meticulously copied from parchment and stone for future translation; and metalwork - be it weapon, armor, or jewelry - was given thoughtful examination alongside enchantments and alchemy. Mummification, or rather the mummies themselves, fascinated her. As it was her first time in an ancient Nord burial crypt, she took great delight in examining the preserved bodies up close.

She was rather alarmed, therefore, when the body of the warrior she was studying suddenly opened frosty glowing eyes, turned its head, and bellowed its displeasure most convincingly. Liselle shrieked and fell on her backside as she scrambled away as fast as she could. She wasn't even thinking well enough to trade her journal for the little steel dagger at her waist, not that the weapon would have been much use. She froze on the ground, staring in numb horror as the hulking corpse slid slowly from its alcove and lifted a vicious-looking obsidian battleaxe.

A strong hand grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her to her feet. She whirled around ready to shriek again, expecting another undead. Instead she met the laughing blue eyes of a boy, grinning like he'd just won a sweetroll.

"RUN!" he shouted at her, but he was already dragging her at a sprint out of the room and deeper into the crypt. The dead warrior gave chase, his bellow shaking half the mountainside as the boy gave a wild hoot. He dragged Liselle through the winding hall before tossing her into another room, leaping in after her and kicking a leaver on the floor. A rusty gate slammed down behind him.

The boy collapsed against the wall, laughing like a maniac. Liselle felt like her legs were about to give out and wanted very much to break down in tears on the spot. She didn't, but decided sitting down was probably safer than standing. The boy stopped laughing with a sigh, but his grin didn't waver as he glanced through the iron grate at the foiled warrior. Suddenly he sprang at Liselle, tackling her towards the wall. The Breton was about to punch him when a wall of force blasted through the grate and across the room, scattering everything that wasn't tied down and missing the young pair by a hand's length - a small hand, with stubby fingers. Liselle froze and the boy leaned back with a chuckle.

"Don't worry, he'll get bored in a few minutes," he said lightly, glancing around the room. The chamber was small and thankfully empty of anything resembling a mummified Nord. A half-moon table-altar-shelf-thing filled most of it, formerly covered by a scattering of embalming tools, linens, moldy books, and a handful of soulgems, swept clean by the warrior's shout. There were two other doorways, one leading behind the altar and the other directly across from where they'd come in.

The boy seemed content to stretch out on the floor and wait, propped up on his elbows as his eyes wandered casually. It took a while for Liselle to remember how important it was to breathe, but as she heard the disgruntled warrior grumbling and stomping away she managed to relax a little. She leaned against the wall and tucked her knees to her chest, expecting any moment that her heart would burst out and flop across the floor. It didn't, of course, and after a few minutes she regained a semblance of control. The boy seemed to notice and glanced at her curiously, and she took the opportunity to look at him properly.

He was almost certainly a Nord, with straight, straw-colored hair just long enough to hang in rascally blue eyes. She'd considered him a boy, but realized now that he was probably only a few years younger than herself. He was short for a Nord - which was still taller than most - and she suspected he hadn't quite finished growing. The term "wiry" described him admirably, she decided; she'd have considered "skinny" but for the ease with which he had tossed her around. He wore a light sort of armor of blue and black leather covered with pockets, pouches, buckles, and presumably all manner of hidden sleeves and compartments. His hood was down, but she imagined it would cover his head and eyes with that same little mysterious and dramatic shadow always talked about in stories. Two swords hung at his left hip: one looked like a shard of ice, its blade pale blue and glassy with a frigid mist rolling across its surface; the second was a vicious black and red affair with a spiked hilt and serrated blade. Another just like it was slung over the young man's left shoulder, and a dagger of the same style hung at his right hip. The only other thing he carried was a plain brown sack slung across his back.

An absent smile played on the boy's lips as he returned her look for a moment before springing to his feet in a single fluid motion. He stepped with easy silence towards the door that lead behind the altar, sidling through and poking his head around the corner.

"Ah ha!" he declared happily, and Liselle stood (with a good deal less grace) to see what had caught his eye.

In the room behind the altar was a simple stone pedestal on which rested a flawless black onyx skull, detailed in silver and adorned with glittering rubies, sapphires, and amethyst. As casually as you could like, the boy strolled over to the skull, examined it for a moment, and promptly plucked it from its resting place. There was a loud click and Liselle screamed and covered her eyes, unable to watch as a dozen iron spikes burst from the walls, ceiling, and floor to impale the oblivious young man. She expected to hear his cries of agony, his body hitting the floor with a sickening squelch as blood poured from gaping wounds, his last shuddering breaths as he died.

"Hm."

The sound was so unexpected she opened her fingers to look at what she had been sure was going to be yet another horror on this nightmare of an expedition. She could only stare in shock.

The boy had somehow managed to be in exactly the right spot so that not a single spike even grazed him. He'd spared a moment to look at the rusty spears that surrounded him, like they were a joke he'd seen too many times to really appreciate any more, and then returned to examining the skull in his hands. The spikes slowly withdrew as the trap reset, and he slung the sack from his shoulder to deposit his new treasure before turning back to the astonished Breton.

"Does that happen often?" she stammered.

"Mmhm!" the boy nodded happily.

Indeed, as the two continued trekking deeper and deeper into the Tomb of Terrors (as Liselle would always afterwards call it), the unshakably cheerful young man seemed to trigger and narrowly escape every trap they came across. Volleys of poison darts would clatter where he'd stood not half a moment before; spiked walls would swing out just a hair too quickly to catch him; hanging blades seemed perfectly timed to his unbroken stride; spikes missed; pillars of flame were always too quick or too late; pools of oil exploded just _next_ to him; falling logs were just an inch too short to reach, or swung over his head just as he bent to snatch a random coin; pit traps collapsed only the moment he'd finish crossing them.

Liselle wanted to tear her hair out in frustration when she realized he was doing it all on purpose. She realized he was showing off when he paused, glanced around, and stepped on a pressure plate so obvious even she could see it. The boy was incorrigible.

Their progress was astonishing, even so. Every locked door or chest they came across was picked open in moments, but the boy thief (what else could he be?) ignored all treasures except those, like the onyx skull, surrounded by traps. He didn't wait for Liselle to jot notes in her journal or take charcoal rubbings, and his preferred strategy for dealing with undead warriors - of which Liselle saw more than enough for many lifetimes - was to run through their maze-like catacombs laughing like a madman before locking them behind iron gates or leading them through their own traps. Even the frazzled scholar couldn't resist giggling as a half dozen of the creatures were in one fell swoop launched from a narrow bridge by a swinging wall of spikes. On the rare occasion this strategy failed, the young man would draw his swords and cleave through the monsters like they were paper.

One room was different. The dark-clad thief suddenly crouched in the shadows and became almost invisible. He yanked Liselle back from the open door before she could pass through and motioned for silence as his eyes swept the wide chamber. The laughter that had lit his face faded and changed, no less gleeful but infinitely more malicious. He drew a small potion vial from a pocket and handed it to the Breton. Liselle opened it and sniffed it curiously, instantly recognized it as a powerful invisibility solution. The young man pointed to the occupants of the room.

The chamber was wide and tall, the only other exit blocked by two giant wooden doors. In the center of the floor was a large circular depression, like a fighting ring. Nine granite coffins lined the ring, and three high-backed stone chairs rose on the far side. On each rested powerfully built and ornately appointed warriors, withered by eons but no less deadly for it, Liselle knew now.

"When I say 'hide,' you drink that and take cover," the boy said, eyes still darting about the room. He grinned again and the young woman got ready for another sprint.

With a gleeful hoot the thief sprang forward. Nine granite coffins burst open, their lids crashing around the room as the two dashed to the wooden gates. Liselle realized she'd arrived first and threw herself against the doors, just strong enough to make a gap large enough to slip through. In a moment the boy followed, slamming the gate shut and wedging the hinges with a pair of old swords. He collapse against the huge timbers and sank to the floor, nearly cackling. Liselle noticed a large copper and onyx claw in his hands.

They both froze when the sound of an axe thudded against the doors, the boy grinning even wider. "Come on!" He leapt up and dragged her down the wide hall, past stone etchings and reliefs that just begged to be studied. He didn't give her the chance, stopping only when they reached a strange circular door formed by three concentric stone rings. The thief glanced at the claw in his hands before tossing it to her and grasping the outer ring. With a heave he turned it, then the second ring, then the third. A rending _crash_ made them whirl to look behind them. The ancient wooden gates were nearly obliterated by the combined shouts of twelve Nord warriors. The thief snatched the claw back and locked it into the center of the puzzle door, twisting it until there was a loud click and the stone gate crashed downwards.

What greeted them was clearly the final room. A vaulted ceiling arched above them, and some hundred yards further three elaborate coffins rested on a raised dais, a black stone pedestal rising at the foot of each. Etchings covered the walls, and chests of what was presumably treasure were scattered about. Liselle didn't see any way out.

"HIDE!" the boy shouted, and Liselle almost forgot the invisibility potion she was still holding before dashing off to duck behind a pile of rubble. With another crash she heard the great wooden gates give way behind them, and peaked her head out to see what had become of the boy thief.

She screamed at him when she saw him still standing in the doorway, but her shout was drowned out by the _boom_ of three coffin lids as they flew from the dais. A trio of Nord wizards floated from the coffins, fingers crackling with magic and masked faces gleaming with cruelty. The boy glanced at them, narrowly dodging a lightning bolt from behind, when the twelve warriors from the last room ran forward.

The boy drew his two black swords, twirling one cheekily. He said something, but Liselle couldn't hear it for the grunts and growls of the undead. Suddenly the boy straightened, inhaled deeply, and shouted:

"TIID KLO UL!"

Five ancient black arrows shot at him and Liselle could only gape as he plucked them from the air. In the next instant he vanished.

When he reappeared a moment later it was behind one of the offending archers, whose head now bounced across the floor. The boy vanished again, and another archer fell. Three more times he disappeared, and three more times he slew a warrior so quickly he seemed to be in two places at once.

He seemed to grow bored with this tactic, and when the last archer fell he engaged the nearest warrior directly. One of the undead gave a shout, ringing with power, and the boy flipped away as the crashing force collided with his enemy, sending it careening into the wall. The thief ducked and twisted, dancing around the creatures as they bellowed and screeched. Fire, ice, and lightning exploded about them as the undead wizards pelted them all with magic. Finally the boy lifted his hands, glowing with his own power, and his enemies exploded with holy flame.

The undead milled about in panic as the boy sheathed his swords, raised his hands again, and enclosed himself in a magic circle.

Magical fire erupted at his feet again and again, crashing over the mindless warriors until nothing was left but charred husks. Lightning crackled around his fingertips, and with a thunderous roar he unleashed it against the three circling wizards. Their wards shattered in moments, and one after the other they dissolved into so much enchanted ash.

The chamber grew silent.

Liselle watched the boy glance around, eyes aglow. Suddenly she realized one of the archers hadn't been as dead as she thought. "Look out!"

The blonde boy spun just as the warrior was raising its bow.

"FUS RO DAH!"

And that was the end of that.

The mousy-haired young woman crept from her hiding place as the invisibility potion wore off. She said nothing, just staring at the blonde thief. He returned her stare easily and for nearly a minute no one said anything.

"Who are you?" she demanded finally. The boy just grinned.

* * *

_From the Author:_  
Hello! Thank you for reading the first of what I hope to by many chapters of an entertaining Skyrim fanfic. Here are some things I thought you might like to know going in.  
This story starts off with a very high-level Dragonborn, as you can probably tell. The "current events" of the story will focus on him and Liselle. Past adventures will be featured in their own chapters or chapter-arcs. Most major quest lines will be explored, but this is not a walkthrough. Additionally, the outcome of many quests or quest lines may [will] be different from those found in-game.  
As far as game mechanics go, there are a few changes. First and foremost, damage is not as straightforward as Health Points. Characters possess "vitality" that lets them turn hard hits into close shaves, and as that vitality runs out during a fight they start to take actual and significant damage. Magic can be cast even when both hands are being used, and food and potions cannot be consumed instantly. Master-level spells do not render the character immobile, do not need to be dual-cast (though can be, to increase the effect), and do not have a charge-time greater than normal for a spell with a high magicka cost.  
Skyrim is also quite a bit bigger than the game would suggest. Those of you who have memorized certain lines and lore will recognize that in a few chapters.  
I will attempt to abide by the laws and standards of the game, such as weapon damage and health, in order to determine the possibility of an action. This also applies to character skills and perks. For those curious, the Dragonborn is wearing the thief Guild Master armor and is carrying Chillrend, two daedric swords, and a daedric dagger in this chapter. His armament will change throughout the story. The effective game difficulty is "Master."  
The shout "Tiid Klo Ul" is the Slow Time thu'um, which I have interpreted as only slowing down time for the Dragonborn, and to everyone else it just seems like he moves really really fast.  
If you don't know what "Fus Ro Dah" is, GTFO the internet.


	2. Chapter 2: To Riverwood

**Chapter 2: To Riverwood**

Disclaimer: My characters are mine. The setting belongs to the Elder Scrolls franchise.

* * *

Liselle didn't stop staring. The boy didn't seem to mind, and after a few moments began going around the room and opening the chests curiously. The Breton woman just watched him, mind totally lost. Of course she'd heard of the Dragonborn - there wasn't an inn or tavern in Skyrim that wasn't buzzing with rumors about him. She hadn't paid attention to most of them, but she had at least expected him to be a bit...older. She began to consider the possibility that some of those rumors might not be too far from the truth.

The thief stretched his arms and back with a sigh as the last chest _clicked _open. "Not my fastest, but not too shabby," he said out loud, glancing around the chamber.

Liselle shook herself and approached the thief determinedly. "So," she began, trying her best to sound in control, "what's your name?"

The boy looked at her, eyes glinting with mischief, before lowering his head. A shadow fell over him, and suddenly he seemed much more like a hero of legend. His presence weighed down on her and she felt herself shrinking, even as he seemed to grow taller and darker. Blue eyes gleamed, deep and penetrating. The whispered word was low and powerful, shaking the very roots of the mountain. "_Ysmir._"

Then it was gone and the hero was just a wiry blonde boy again. "But my friends call me Daelin," he said with a grin, turning from the stunned Breton to riffle through the open chests. He traveled back and forth between the iron coffers and the middle of the room, adding to a growing pile of weapons, armor, and magical trinkets which he tossed or dropped unceremoniously in a heap. Liselle watched as he buried his arms - sometimes up to his neck - in the mounds of gold and jewels, clearly looking for something. He would withdraw an item, give it a glance, and unfailingly toss it over his shoulder at the heap of treasure. He paused at one chest, elbows deep, when his fingers found something unusual. He plucked it out and held it up for a look.

It was an apple.

A fresh, ripe, green apple.

The boy shrugged and tossed it so it landed amongst the pile with a loud _clang_.

Liselle winced. "Well, Daelin," she said, now that her heart wasn't racing, "my name is Liselle Androfet. It's a pleasure to meet you."

A muffled "same" emerged from one chest, the boy not bothering to turn and make even the smallest gesture of courtesy. Liselle's trepidation was instantly replaced by irritation. Not noticing, or not caring, the boy gave a shout of triumph as he lifted first one, then another boot of ebony steel over his buried head, coins and gems raining off them as he held them up proudly.

"_That's_ what we're looking for!" he said to no one in particular, sitting back to gaze at the boots happily. Liselle's irritation vanished as quickly as it had come, her scholar's curiosity taking charge.

"What are they?" she asked as she moved closer for a better look.

"Boots!"

The woman's eye twitched. "Is there something particularly _special_ about these boots?" she ground out. The boy just nodded cheerfully before holding them out for her to examine.

She looked over the pieces of armor with interest, a probing thought telling her immediately that they were magic. "They're _Muffled_," she concluded finally." Daelin just nodded again. "I've never seen that enchantment before."

"Nope! I've got a few pieces, but they're really tricky - no way to look at the magic properly without it failing. Catastrophically." He gave the boots a shrewd look. "I've been hunting for something like this for months now. Started to think I'd never find it."

"You're an enchanter?"

"Mmhm! The best in Skyrim," he said proudly. After everything Liselle had seen him do, she didn't doubt it. Daelin carefully wrapped the boots in strips of old linen before placing them gently in the large brown sack he carried. "Alright." He stood quickly and glanced around the room a final time. He'd already gone through the remains of the undead warriors and wizards, apparently not interested in anything they carried. Liselle wondered how wealthy the thief was to pass up the troves of treasure around him. She herself had quietly pocketed a few fistfuls of precious stones. She didn't like to think of herself as a grave robber, of course, but she definitely felt that her efforts in the crypt had earned her some small reward, beyond simple academia.

Daelin approached the rear wall and ran a hand over the engravings thoughtfully. Liselle followed but then stopped. The strangest feeling had swept over her as she'd come close to the runes. A beating, like a heart, thundering through her as her vision pulsed and darkened. She took a small step forward then stopped again. No mistake. She glanced at Daelin, but the Nord boy didn't seem to feel it. Slowly, hesitantly, she joined him in the curve of the wall. She felt her mind drift into a sort of trance, the ancient words washing over her in a low, rumbling chant as her surroundings faded.

Daelin _humphed_ moodily, and the Breton shook herself to clear her head. He gave her a speculative look and gently drew her away from the wall until the thudding in her ears faded to a low hum. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again after a moment's thought. "Alright," he said again, smiling cheerfully once more. "That's our way out."

He pointed to a stretch of empty wall and Liselle shot him a look that clearly said she thought he was losing it. How much of "it" he had left was up for debate. He just grinned back and strode across the dais to the three pedestals at the foot of the coffins. With a flicker of magic he lit the air above them: the first with ice, the second with fire, and the third with lightning.

They exploded fantastically.

Liselle was so used to surprises by now it wasn't even a surprise. She watched the thief pick himself up quickly and dust himself off, as if he had _not_ just been blasted with enough magic to drop a mammoth. He gave an irritated "hm" and tried them again in a different order.

This time there was a loud _creak_, _crunch_, and _thud_ as a hidden door opened in the wall, exactly where the young man had predicted.

"There we go!"

* * *

The back door had led them to one of the first rooms of the crypt, the one where they'd found the black onyx skull. Daelin wasted no time kicking the nearby lever on the floor, opening the rusty gate that separated them from Liselle's first ancient Nord ("_Draugr_," the boy called it). She'd learned to stay a few steps behind her guide at all times, but now decided that a bit more distance wouldn't hurt.

She needn't have worried. When they reached the antechamber they were met with three leather-clad sneaks Liselle immediately took to be Daelin's fellow thieves. The offending old corpse had been expertly beheaded and the rest of the room picked over by the obvious professionals.

The three thieves greeted their friend with varying amounts of warmth before looking at her curiously.

"A stray Breton I picked up," Daelin said by way of introduction. The thieves pretended to be satisfied by the answer but Liselle noticed that they kept shooting her looks as the blonde (apparently the leader of the group) briefed them on the layout of the crypt. That done, he gently but firmly led her outside as the other thieves slipped deeper into the tomb. They'd be carrying out all the treasure left behind.

After the stuffy and sickly air of the ruins, the crisp Skyrim breeze was a welcome relief. Liselle took a deep breath and sank against the cold stone wall. Daelin watched her before doing the same, a good deal more exaggerated. She glared at the obnoxious young man, but couldn't manage to stay angry when he shot her a cheeky grin. They stayed that way for a few minutes before the thief began to fidget. Finally he sprang up and began pacing lightly.

"I like you," he said suddenly, stopping in front of her.

Liselle looked at him, not sure whether or not to be offended. "Excuse me?"

"I like you, _Liselle_ _Androfet_," he said as he bounced on his toes. It was the first time he'd said her name.

"That's nice."

"Come home with me."

Liselle's breath froze and she gave him a frosty glare. "That's awfully forward, even for a Nord."

The boy just raised an eyebrow, blue eyes flashing mischievously. How _did_ he do that? "Do you have something better to do?" he asked.

The small woman bristled. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," she retorted hotly. She stood and brushed the dust and grim off her scholar's robes. "I'm studying ancient Nord cultures and their technologies."

The blonde nodded. "And how do you propose to do that?" he asked innocently. The woman's eyes narrowed - he was _so_ far from innocent...

"By exploring their ruins, translating their records, and replicating their techniques. How else?"

"Well, I was just curious how you would deal with all the _draugr_ in the other tombs."

Liselle paled and swallowed nervously. "Are there a lot more?" she asked, fighting a stutter. The boy just nodded pleasantly.

"Lots more. Hundreds. Thousands probably. Can't go anywhere without running into them, I've found."

That changed things. "I guess I'll need to hire protection, then," she said firmly.

"Where? Who? With what?" the thief shot one after the other. "We're miles from the Companions, which are the only respectable mercenaries around. Their price is reasonable, but a dungeon delving is still _awfully_ expensive. You picked up a few shiny rocks. You think that'll be enough to get you what you need? And if you settle for lesser mercenaries, you think they'll let you keep much from the tombs? If anything? What if you choose a bad contract? What if they die half way through?" His voice was light, but he wasn't smiling. His questions were quick and sharp, like a parent shooting down a child. Liselle did not at all like being treated like a child.

The young woman straightened, jaw set. She barely came up to the thief's chin, but that wasn't going to stop her from anything. "I can take care of myself," she declared.

The blonde gave her a look. "Really." Liselle glared back, mustering up as much confidence as she could. It still wasn't enough. After less than a minute she had to look away. "How did you manage to get this far into Skyrim on your own, anyway?" Daelin asked curiously.

In truth Liselle had only managed to travel so far east thanks to a caravan she'd joined in Markarth. She and the traders had been heading towards Cyrodiil, they for the gold and she for the patronage of a mages guild. The caravan guard had kept her safe. She'd only broken away a few days ago, north of Falkreath, to explore the ancient Nord ruins. She was beginning to realize how big a mistake that was.

The thief nodded when she explained, the Breton growing more sullen with every word. "So, basically, you're screwed," he summed up. The Breton nodded sourly. He waited a moment before asking, "So... stick with me?"

She bit out something that sounded decidedly vulgar, but the boy just grinned and skipped off.

* * *

Liselle decided at once that she did not like Daelin's horse. Shadowmere was big, and blacker than pitch, with red eyes that glowed evilly in the dark. The small woman felt a sinister hunger in those eyes whenever they looked at her, and she wondered if anyone had ever bound a daedra in the form of a horse. The beast did nothing to disabuse her of the notion. To his master he was loyal, if a little headstrong; to anyone else, he was downright vicious.

Liselle's own mountain pony did not seem to care much for her equine fellow either. She was standoffish and jittery whenever the black horse came too close, which rider and mount agreed was anywhere within a good hundred yards. Unfortunately, their guide refused to let them hang back more than a few lengths. The two giant sabercats that attacked them the second day made the reason abundantly clear.

Still, Liselle and her pony were determined not to like it.

Their journey was not especially peaceful, but at least it was nonviolent. They encountered wolves, trolls, bandits, and of course the giant cats, but a good shout from Daelin left all of them scrambling over themselves to get away. This had confused the young woman at first. The young man had not hesitated to kill the _draugr_ in the crypt, and would surely have no difficulty with the beasts and riffraff on the road. It occurred to her one night that Daelin simply did not want to kill them. She asked him about it on their fourth night of travel, approaching the village of Riverwood.

"No loot," he said simply, shrugging it off. Liselle just looked at him, aghast. The most powerful man in Skyrim based the decision of life and death on how much 'loot' a person had.

Daelin noticed her look and laughed. "It's not like that," he assured her, guessing her thoughts. "I just don't feel like killing a man or animal just because they were too stupid to stay away. If they had something I wanted, well, that'd be different, but wolves and bandits aren't exactly overflowing with treasure." They rode on in silence for a few minutes before he spoke softly again. "I never expected to be as powerful as I am now, and I realized it's a lot less liberating than people think."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, think about right now. If I were just a normal warrior with a sword, all I could do to stop a bandit is kill him." He paused. "Or run," he supposed, "but that usually doesn't end well. Since killing is really my only choice, everyone agrees that it's OK and we're on our merry way. Straightforward enough."

"But...?" Liselle prompted.

"But what if I were a powerful illusionist? What if I could stop a bandit without killing him? Would it still be OK to kill him?"

The woman nodded thoughtfully, seeing the train of thought. "So, the way a Nord might see it, it is honorable to kill an enemy you meet in battle, but dishonorable to kill one who is bound and weaponless. Against someone like you, even a battle-ready bandit might as well be bound and weaponless."

The young man nodded. "Exactly. But it's even more complicated. When the bandits and animals run away, there's the chance they'll just find someone else to hurt or kill. So do you scare them off knowing that, or do you kill them because of something they _might _do?" The boy shrugged. "People accept the easy way out when you have weakness as an excuse. And sometimes it's easier to be weak. But people with power don't have that excuse. They're not held back by weakness. They have to decide not only what they _can_ do, but what they _should_ do. It makes things a lot less straightforward."

"You've given this some thought."

The boy nodded, smiling absently. "When you're as powerful as me, you kinda have to." There was no trace of boast; it was merely a statement of fact.

Clearly he wasn't as carefree as he pretended. Liselle found herself admiring her companion a bit more after that.

* * *

They reached Riverwood around midnight and Daelin booked two rooms at the _Sleeping Giant Inn_. Liselle was too tired to do anything more than collapse on her bed and fall instantly asleep.

The next morning dawned far too early for the small woman's liking. Orgnar the innkeeper had made her a plain but filling breakfast of egg, bread, and cheese, washed down by a mild but very tasty mead. She was surprised Daelin hadn't woken her sooner; their days on the road had begun just before dawn and ended well into the night. She asked Orgnar if he'd seen her traveling companion that morning and was directed to the smithy just across the road.

Alvor the blacksmith was a large, blonde-haired, fatherly sort of man with a rough voice and kind eyes. Liselle found him leaning against the wall of the outdoor forge and talking lightly with Daelin. The thief's chest was bare as he enjoyed the heat of the fire, tinkering absently at the workbench as he adjusted the fit of an orcish gauntlet. Alvor paused as Liselle came over.

"You're a smith too?" she demanded of the blonde, irritated. Was there nothing he couldn't do?

He flashed her a grin, blue eyes sparkling. "Best in Skyrim." Alvor coughed politely and Daelin turned away from the table to introduce them. "Alvor, this is Liselle. I picked her up on one of my little escapades. Liselle, Alvor."

"A pleasure to meet such a fine young lass as yourself," the smith said, taking her hand. Liselle preened.

"Manners and charm!" she exclaimed, shooting a pointed look at Daelin. "What a novelty." Alvor laughed as the thief shuffled guiltily.

"Alvor took me in when I was on my own a few years back," the boy said. "He was the first to teach me about smithing, and without him I probably wouldn't be alive right now."

The blacksmith scoffed. "You could take care of yourself long before you came here. I've no doubt you'd have survived somehow." He turned to Liselle. "He was just a skinny little urchin when he came here with my nephew. Quite the troublemaker."

"Really?" Liselle asked curiously. Daelin groaned and tossed the gauntlet at the smith before he could say more. The older man chuckled as he caught it deftly.

"I'm leaving you for Hod," the thief said moodily, striding off towards the woodpile and chopping block near the river, well out of earshot. The other two watched him go before Liselle turned back to the smith.

"So, troublemaker, hm?"

* * *

The fatherly blacksmith regaled her with stories of all manner of childish mischief. Liselle wasn't at all surprised by the antics Daelin had pursued when he was younger, but very much enjoyed the image of him getting caught and slapped around a little. She wondered idly if someday she'd have the privilege. After a while a villager came to the smithy with work and Alvor excused himself. The Breton slipped around the back of the forge to watch the young thief at the chopping block. Her eyes watched him, but her mind was elsewhere.

They'd made it to Riverwood safely and Liselle was now considering her next step. Should she join a caravan going south to Falkreath and then Cyrodiil, the heartland of the Empire, or north to Whiterun and the Companions mercenary guild? Her original plan had been to study the ruins of the Heartland Elves as a member of the Imperial University, but her experience in the Nord tomb had made her realize...well, a few things really. For one, Skyrim was a lot more interesting than she'd expected - the Ayleid ruins in Cyrodiil attracted so many scholars that she doubted she'd be able to make any real discoveries at this point, but Skyrim was virtually untouched. On the other hand, she was grossly unprepared for any further expeditions in Skyrim, while the ruins in Cyrodiil would be perfectly safe. One thing was certain, however: she would not continue following Daelin. The boy had saved her life a hundred times, but then that was the point, wasn't it? The Dragonborn found trouble like a fox found red.

The sound of splitting logs had stopped and Liselle looked back to see the blonde walk over. His smile faded a little when he saw her face. "You alright?" he asked. The Breton was frowning in thought, and imagined she looked terribly dour to anyone passing by. She briefly debated whether or not to tell the thief about her plans, but decided she valued his experience too much to brush him off. Daelin listened attentively, but looked crestfallen when she mentioned going their separate ways. "You know," he said, "there's a tomb not a day's ride from here, if you're interested. I cleared it out years ago, so there aren't any draugr to worry about. I could guide you through, let you study it up close..."

It was obvious he was trying to keep her from going off on her own, but her curiosity got the better of her. After a moment's consideration, she agreed.

The boy grinned. "In that case, I need to pick up a few things. Come on!"

He lead her across the village and the two slipped into the _Riverwood_ _Trader_, where they were greeted by an excited Lucan Valerius. Lucan was a middle-aged, dark-haired Imperial, that race of people hailing from Cyrodiil. His shop wasn't especially large, carrying the sorts of common goods a small village like Riverwood needed, but the merchant took pride in owning the only building around with a second floor (Imperials being of the general opinion that 'bigger is better'). Daelin introduced her again, and again she was greeted with the warm courtesy of a man who knew how to treat a lady. She was starting to wonder how all these wonderfully polite people had managed to live with a hellion like Daelin for as long as they had.

So she asked.

Lucan just laughed. "He was mostly harmless," he explained, "and he pulled his weight. Actually, he pulled a lot more." Not especially hard, since he didn't weigh much to begin with. "See, the store was robbed a few weeks after he got here. We knew it wasn't him, since he never actually kept anything he stole."

Liselle glanced at the blonde skeptically. "An honest thief?" Daelin made a show of being hurt, but Lucan just grinned.

"I wouldn't say _honest_, but there are lines he won't cross. Anyway, as soon as he hears about the robbery, he takes his elf friend and goes chasing after the thief. Two days later he's back with my claw and a sack full of treasure." He shot the Nord a grateful smile. "Next day he dashes off to Whiterun and a week later we've got guards to fend off the dragon attacks. We were all a lot fonder of him after that."

Liselle looked at the young thief thoughtfully. "How long ago was that?" she asked Lucan. The man counted the time in his head.

"Nearly two years now, I think."

So Daelin hadn't even really been raised in Riverwood. He hadn't told her where his home was, and she'd been hoping this was it. No such luck. She realized that all the stories she'd heard from Alvor had happened in the span of a few weeks. How had the boy found time for that much mischief?

A thought struck her then. "Can I see this claw of yours?" she asked the Imperial. The scholar in her was starting to fidget. Lucan just nodded before kneeling behind the store counter and drawing out a golden dragon claw. It was the same shape as the copper and onyx one Daelin had used on the puzzle door in the crypt. Liselle picked it up carefully and turned it over in her hands.

The claw had three toes, the ankle curving up to serve as a kind of handle. Three little medallions were welded in a line along the inside palm, and after a closer look Liselle could make out pictures on them - a bear, a moth, and an owl. She remembered similar pictures on the rings of the puzzle door in the crypt.

"So this is the combination to a puzzle door?" she guessed. Lucan looked confused, but Daelin grinned.

"Kinda makes the whole thing a lot less impressive, huh?"

"My admiration is plummeting, I assure you."

The merchant was about to ask what they were going on about when a woman rushed down the stairs and pounced on Daelin like a ravenous sabercat.

Camilla Valerius was a young woman a few years older than Liselle, with the dark hair and lean face of her brother, though much prettier. She hugged the boy tightly and kissed him (a bit more fondly than was normal between friends) before turning to the others in the room. Her eyes glinted playfully as she introduced herself to the Breton.

Liselle had at first thought Daelin and the woman were lovers, but as she and Camilla exchanged pleasantries she found herself modifying that assumption. Though the thief looked very fond of the dark-haired beauty, he'd begun to gently extricate himself from her hold the moment her eyes were off him. Liselle realized suddenly that he was uncomfortable with the touch, and Camilla knew it - she just enjoyed making him squirm. _That_ was something the small woman could appreciate.

She and Camilla Valerius got on very well after that.


End file.
